


Through the Aperture

by pricefiels



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Sacrifice Arcadia Bay Ending, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9043871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricefiels/pseuds/pricefiels
Summary: Some decisions you never get over, harassing you with guilt and regret for the rest of your life. This wasn't one of them. (Post-Chapter 5) Lots of lesbian goodness.





	1. Sugarcoated Cardboard

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty new to AO3 (ff net veteran here) so forgive me if I'm horrible at tagging and such. :(
> 
> Anyway, post-bae is probably super overdone but I'm really self-indulgent and couldn't resist writing a fic based on it. I'll try to update regularly but "regular" for me is pretty sporadic, so just bear with me :')
> 
> Is anyone still in this fandom anymore?
> 
> i have some one-shot ideas, and i might post them here, otherwise follow my tumblr where i'll post the rest of my writings, my url is pricefiels (shameless plug oops)

Night had fallen. Or rather, it crept in, with stealth and discretion like a silent killer, so gradual that Chloe had hardly noticed that the only shadows cast around her were produced from the dancing fire, finding home in the lazy pile of sticks and twigs the pair had gathered from the forest.

Of course, Chloe hadn’t really been paying much attention to her surroundings. Once the storm retired to a few warning rumbles of thunder and the occasional wisp of wind blowing in the trees, her focus shifted to the comfort of her best friend, offering consolation in any way possible she knew of—even if Chloe was never well versed in the art of affection. Fortunately for her, however, since the storm devastated Arcadia Bay hours ago, conversation between the two girls had managed to tactfully avoid even gracing the subject of the storm and the alleged death of several people. Max had made her choice, and that was it. Chloe was alive, and the texts blowing up their phones brought solace that at least a majority of their friends had survived the storm.

Getting into Chloe’s car and driving towards the outskirts of town was the only decision the girls could make, pressured with a time crunch and overwhelming weight of responsibility sitting on their shoulders. Truth was, Chloe had no idea where she was driving. Max gave little direction and Chloe had hardly anyone to turn to outside of their hometown. Once the highway they roamed devolved into a maze of dirt roads, narrowly piercing through the wilderness in veins of desolate yonder, Chloe and Max had agreed to settle into a small clearing for the night. It wasn’t a permanent solution to the storm of problems they were about to face, but Chloe had enough supplies in her truck to gift them a few days of camping out before deciding on a final destination.

* * *

 

Embers scattered towards the sky, dissipating as the fire below them cracked. The remnants of the distant storm wafted the smoke towards Chloe, who reacted by cursing and shifting herself closer towards Max.

“Jesus,” she coughed, shooing the intruding smoke away. “Anywhere I sit, the fucking smoke finds me.”

“Why does it even matter? You smoke,” said Max, in a hint of a chuckle.

“That’s—uh, that’s different.” Chloe hacked out the remaining smoke that assaulted her lungs.

“How is that different?”

“Because smoking is wonderful. And this is the asshole cousin of smoking that punches you in the gut and—“

“Smoking is also the asshole that kills people.”

“But it feels _so_ good,” Chloe said in a sigh.

Max filled the pause that followed with a dejected breath. “I’m the asshole that kills people.” She folded her knees up to her face.

“Well, Christ, Max, way to keep the spirits high.” Chloe knew Max couldn’t have possibly been emotionally unscathed by the storm, but a faint spark in her hoped they could at least avoid talking about it, merrily and obliviously living out their lives in pure denial of the events that recently unfolded in their small town. Still, Chloe was all Max had at this point, a sentiment solidified when they hopped in Chloe’s truck and abandoned the town to seek out a life far away in a city where there faces would hide in obscurity. If Max wanted to find comfort, it’d have to be in Chloe.

But, again—Chloe was all Max had. And Chloe loved that girl to fucking _pieces._

“I’m sorry, but—I mean, we can’t just ignore this. Holy shit, people are probably dead.”

“Yeah. And I’m alive.” Chloe huffed. “Place was a shithole, anyway. Could use some renovation.”

“I guess.” Max grumbled and lay down on the mess of grass and leaves below her,

“Hey.” Chloe paused. She wish could say it wasn’t Max’s fault, but any defense she had for that would be poorly constructed. Maybe it wasn’t Max’s fault, maybe Max was a victim of circumstance, of the psychological devastation of a burden no human should ever carry. But with the wound being so fresh, there was no way Max would push the blame on anyone but herself.

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing fine, all right?”

Max shrugged. “I guess.”

“I mean, shit, you’re handling this a lot better than I would. Uh, I mean, you’re a better person than I am. A stronger one.”

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”

“Oh.” Chloe bit her words back, realizing Max had no interest in discussing it anymore. Being dismissed so easily hurt, but she couldn’t imagine what barrage of emotions Max was experiencing. “There’s shit in the truck. Grab me something too, all right?...Fuck, you know what, we’re not going anywhere soon, grab me a beer.”

When Max left, Chloe found her first moment of peace in hours. She focused on the breathing of the trees as the wind fluctuated through the area, wildlife shuffling around as their homes shifted in the breeze. The calm of the wilderness contrasted against the frantic nature of home life had never stood out to Chloe until this moment. Shit, she could get used to it, she concluded while trailing her fingers through a patch of grass beside her. Abandoning their plans on starting a new life in the city, settling into the woods instead—

“Catch!”

“What?” Chloe’s serene reflection was oh-so _rudely interrupted_ by Max standing in front of the truck, waving a beer bottle. “Holy sh—no, don’t throw it!”

“Hey, hey, relax,” Max said between laughs, “I wouldn’t throw this.”

“You better not.” Chloe brushed some twigs and dirt off of her jacket. “I only have a few left. And I don’t plan on sucking beer out of the ground like a fucking dog.”

“Funny, I don’t know a lot of dogs that drink beer.”

“All right, smartass.” Chloe gestured Max over to her with her hand, a hint of urgency in her command as the thought of beer awoken excitement with the anticipation of the refreshing, albeit slightly warm drink calming her anxieties. “Get the fuck over here.”

Max sat next to Chloe, pulling a granola bar out of her jean pockets. “Want half?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Chloe accepted the bottle of beer out of Max’s hands, disappointed in the warmth, even if it were expected. Screw it, though, it wasn’t the cold of the beverage she was anticipating. She twisted the cap off of the bottle and took her first sip, cleansing the aftertaste of smoke loitering in the back of her throat.

“Woah, how’d you do that with your hands? Doesn’t that hurt?”

“...It’s a twist top.”

“Oh.” Max’s composure devolved into embarrassment, shoulders sloping up.

“Seriously?” Chloe laughed, wiping her mouth.

“Look, I don’t really drink.” Max took a bite of her granola bar. “Wow, this really sucks, by the way.”

“Yeah, it’s some shit David had in his garage. He eats this shit a lot. It tastes like garbage but if you wash it down with a few drinks it tastes a little less like sugar-dusted cardboard...garbage.”

“’Sugar-Dusted Cardboard’ is going to be our new band name.”

“Cheers to that,” Chloe said, holding her beer bottle up. Max responded by tapping her granola bar against the glass, bits of the bar crumbling down to the ground in a cascade of tasteless disappointment.

A few beats of placid silence nestled into the air and left the girls with twin smiles of satiation, Max apparently over the wavering moment of sadness and guilt that assaulted her earlier. For now, at least.

“You ever think about saying ‘fuck it all’ to everything and living in the woods?” Chloe asked, throwing stray twigs into the dying fire in futile efforts to stoke it.

“Not really,” Max admitted, finishing her snack with reluctantly. “I’d miss the internet. And I don’t want to get eaten by a bear.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Chloe dismissed all previous, albeit fleeting fantasies she had of retreating into the wilderness with Max and living their lives as fledgling hermits, living off the offerings of nature and nothing more. “Nature sucks. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life picking berries and praying they’re not poisonous...switching shifts between bear watch...wiping with leaves.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, _ew_? You’re gross,” Max threw the wrapper of her granola at Chloe.

Flinching, Chloe threw her hand up to her face, a few ounces of beer flying out of the bottle and splashing onto Max. “Fuck, Max. Look what you made me do.”

Max tensed up once the beer made contact with her jeans. “My God, Chloe! It was a fucking _granola bar_ wrapper!”

“You threw it at me! It was self defense. Don’t victim-blame me, Max.”

“Oh, you fuck,” Max playfully chucked a twig at Chloe.

“Help, I’m being attacked!”

“No one can hear you out here!” Max boasted her best evil laugh imitation.

“You know, you should thank me. You smell like beer now. I don’t think bears like beer. So, yeah, you’re fucking welcome.” Chloe finished off the rest of her drink.

“’Bears Like Beer.’ That’s going to b—“

“Not everything has to be a band name.”

“All right, all right. Well, that’s another reason I’d rather live in civilization. I need a fucking shower.”

“I don’t know, I think you smell pretty good.”

Max shot a look of disgust. “You’re fucking weird.”

“But you love it.”

“Unfortunately, yeah, I do.” Max leaned her head on Chloe’s shoulder, summoning weird feelings in Chloe teetering between undying affection towards her best friend and a confusing tangle of more-than-platonic urges and thoughts, the same conundrum surfacing towards the end of her friendship with Rachel. The same feelings that Chloe had been, up until now, successfully burying down, afraid of testing the fragility in their friendship by selfishly acting on them.

“I’m gonna go get more wood, the fire’s dying,” Chloe announced, withdrawing from Max and beginning to stand up.

“No, no, stay for a bit—please.” Max grabbed Chloe’s wrist and pulled her down, voice traced with a delicate desperation.

“Okay.” Chloe’s discomfort could never overtake her desire to be there for Max.

“I wanna watch it die.”

Chloe laughed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“We don’t need a fire anymore. We’ll sleep in your truck. Just...don’t leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. “I don’t regret my decision.”

“What?” Chloe pressed, knowing the answer.

“I’m glad I chose you. I don’t want you to think that I wish I didn’t.”

“I know.” Max’s lingering grip on Chloe’s wrist placated Chloe into a strange trance. “And I’m glad you did, even if that sounds selfish.”

“Are you ever going to call back the people bugging you on your phone?”

“Eventually. I’m not ready to talk to anyone else right now,” Chloe said. “What about you?”

“Same. I texted Warren and my parents. That’s it.”

A wolf howled in the distance—though how distant worried Chloe—startling both of the girls into a synchronized jump. “Fuck,” Chloe breathed.

“Uh, can—can we go back into your truck?” Max asked, scrambling to a standing position.

“Hell yeah.”

“So—honest question,” Max started, helping Chloe up to her feet, “where are we going?”

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue.”

Instead of being upset, as Chloe feared, Max reacted with an amused giggle. “That’s why you need me. We’re going to go live with Warren’s family.”

“I—wait, what? I mean, that’s co—“

“I’m kidding. We’re going to stay with my parents a bit and work it out from there. Seriously, you remember I have parents, right?”

“I don’t know, you never really talk about them. I haven’t seen them in years.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Max said, as if sensing the anxiety in Chloe’s voice. “They’ll let you stay as long as you want.”

“Okay.”

“And we’ll figure something out. A new school, I don’t know.”

“Right.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “I don’t know, the uncertainty of the future is...”

“Scary, I know. But we—“

“As long as you’re in it, then I guess it’s not so scary.”

“Wow.” Max stayed silent for a moment. “That’s gay.”

“You’re gay.”

“Let’s just go to bed, all right? I’m tired and I don’t want to get eaten wolves. And I don’t want you to get eaten by bears, since you’re not wearing your bear-repellent like I am.”

Chloe smiled, the last few licks of fire illuminating Max’s face, that freckled, damned irresistible face she grew to adore, superhuman in its ability to pacify Chloe in even the most trying times. “Anything for you.”


	2. Fancy Bears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seven months later is definitely a speedy update, right?
> 
> anyway, before the storm is (will be) awesome but establishing a pre-storm chloe canon is rly going to ruin any canon i make up about her past, but that's fine. it's just a fic.

 

 “Do your parents know I'm coming?”

“Well, yeah, no shit. Why wouldn't they?”

Chloe stayed quiet for a beat. She wasn't about to admit to Max she was actively worried about her parents reception to the “new” Chloe. “Uh, no reason.” She tried to keep her tone as casual as possible, but a shake in her voice failed her.

“Trust me, they like you.”

“Hey, I didn't say they didn't.” Chloe switched between radio stations, disjointed words and startling static polluting the otherwise calm air in the truck, Chloe's gaze switching between the radio and the road. “I fucking hate this song...this one, too. God, they all suck.”

“Holy shit, can you just focus on the road?” Max's voice bled panic, swiping at Chloe's hand. Chloe withdrew her hand at the contact, briefly tensing it into a fist before resting it back on the steering wheel. “I didn't survive the fucking apocalypse just to die in a car wreck,” Max said, an indication of hostility tainting her words.

“Sorry, sorry.” Chloe's focus resumed to her driving, although a small portion of her concentration spared to keep her apprehensions at bay. “Although, if you thought _that_ was the apocalypse, you're going to be in for a real treat when it does really happen.” Another beat of silence, Max falling back into her seat and crossing her arms in protest of whatever angst was infecting her now. "Hey. You all right?"

"Hella fuckin' peachy," Max replied, emphasizing her swearing. She pushed her seat back, kicking her shoes onto the already-dirtied dashboard of the car. Max was taking Chloe's suggestion to "make herself at home" a little too seriously. The normally respectful prodigy kid, "the poster child for senseless nasty ass-kissing" as Chloe had put it once, seemed to be rebelling against the polite morals she normally followed. 

"I mean, your parents..." Screw it, Max was trustworthy, and Max was too far in with her to judge any self-doubt Chloe was harboring. ”Uh, but I mean, I've changed quite a fuckin' lot in the past...what, six years? Jesus, I mean you remember me at that age,” she said.

Max straightened her body out a bit, the slight scowl on her face fading as if her mood switched in response to her friend's anxiety. “Yeah, trust me. They'll love you just as much as they did all those years ago.”

“All right. If you say so.” Somehow, Chloe trusted Max, despite the insecurities feeding her doubts. Max's parents were two of the nicest people she's ever had the pleasure of meeting, setting up sleepovers and outings for the two during the span of their childhood and even encouraging Max's friendship with her. But Chloe's brain had the habit of formulating worst-case scenarios in almost every facet of life, even in spite of previous experience, so the worrying thought still gnawed her subconscious, providing an annoying dullness rather than a painful distraction.

“I have to be honest, though. It's kinda cute how worried you are about this.” Max's comment severed Chloe's thoughts and aroused an odd elation within her. 

“Cute? What the—what about this is cute?” Chloe kept her head as straight forward as she could, hiding the red tinting her cheeks. She yearned so bad to see the expression on Max's face, but couldn't risk the vulnerability of Max discovering hidden feelings Chloe held.

“You, just, uh...I don't know. You never seemed like the type to give a crap what other people think about you. I mean, that's not a bad thing. I like it about you.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, if I'm going to be spending—God knows how long with someone, I wanna make sure they don't hate me.”

“They don't.” Max's tone bordered annoyance.

“I know.” Max said nothing. “But, I mean, I do care about what people think about me. Like, a whole fucking lot. So...uh, don't think I don't.”

Chloe accepted the silence that followed in a vague hope that Max would say something, but she didn't, and Chloe had the sense to leave the quiet air undisturbed during the next small leg of their travel. They had planned to sleep in the truck, but being so close to Max's house, the girls theorized that if they drove straight for just a _few_ more hours, they'd reach their destination and sleep like queens in a bounty of comfort instead of the subpar conditions offered in Chloe's truck, only marginally surpassed by a one-star motel where bed bugs and cockroaches extended companionship in broken beds.

Chloe had processed enough thoughts in the silent hours that passed, only occasionally punctuated by superficial conversation between the duo that achieved nothing beyond banter. Both girls' psyches had taken a beating too severe to recover from in such a short amount of time, their minds toiling over the recent events and the uncertain future approaching, twisting their emotions like rapid growing vines. Chloe needed substance, she needed meaningful conversation or anything to pry her away from the dark crevices her thoughts had seeped into, staining her brain with regret and panic. Was it really her fault so many people were presumed dead? Was her life really worth the destruction of a beloved community? She did her best to keep her trepidation where it belonged, clamoring at the recessed folds of her brain when her focus was needed elsewhere, but the stray twinge of panic shot to the front of her thoughts, jolting her with tweaks of adrenaline in a symbiotic display of her own anxiety keeping her from falling asleep at the wheel—at least, for a while.

But as hours passed, Max fell asleep, and Chloe envied that. Her eyelids were now winning a subconscious war, growing heavier until they pulled down in front of her eyes in weaker moments. She hadn't noticed how much time had passed until the first few slivers of dawn breached the treetops and painted the sky a subdued blue.

“Max, I can't fucking do this. I can't drive like this. I'm going to pass out on this steering wheel and we're going to die a horrible, screaming death.”

“That's okay,” Max mumbled, eyes still shut.

“Wake up, asshole.” Chloe jabbed Max's shoulder with her elbow. “Seriously.”

“What? What?” Max jostled awake. “Ugh. I finally fell asleep.”

“Yeah, sorry to wake you up from your beauty rest, but I'm not going to last five more minutes being conscious.”

“Well, let's find some place to sleep then, or something," Max suggested, throwing her head back.

“Yeah? Like where? The _Radisson_ over there? Or how about that _Holiday Inn_ on the left?” Chloe asked, pointing to the thicket of trees crowding the road, no signs of civilizations in sight.

“All right, all right, I get it. Do you want me to drive or something?”

“No. I trust you about as much as I trust myself.” Chloe pulled the car over to the side of the road, sighing heavily once she turned off the ignition. The sounds of zealous, sex-starved insects was now abundant, sliding through the small gaps of the windows. Stray leaves started to litter the windshield of Chloe's truck as wind slicked its fingers through the treetops. “Christ. How close are we to your parents'?”

“Literally less than hour away.” Max shifted in her seat, fighting the desire to fall back asleep.

“So you thought you would sleep and I'd somehow magically know how to drive to their house?”

Max sighed. Agitation possessed her posture and the grimace on her face. “No. I don't know. I'm sorry.”

Chloe nodded gently. “Dude, I'm kind of freaking out.” Her voice remained calm, contrasted to the sentiment she shared. The following seconds of brief silence were phantom thumps against her temple, hoping Max's silence was born of mutual fear rather than disinterest in engaging with Chloe.

“Me too.”

Chloe was a little surprised with Max's agreement, maintaining her posture and expression so Max couldn't read her relief. “I've never been so scared in my life. And it's a weird kind of scared, like I don't feel—I don't feel impending doom or anything. It's just this—I don't know. And sometimes I feel fine, like we did what we could, but sometimes—like now—I just—“

“I—yeah, I know what you're talking about. But, let's not focus on it, all right?” Max's voice carried a scent of anxiety. “What's done is done, and, and I just want to get home and at least know we have a place to live before dissecting the past few days.”

“Okay. Yeah, that makes sense.” Chloe fell back into her seat. Max's words brought little comfort, but Chloe didn't have the energy to debate her.  Plus, if Max was as troubled as her posture and snaps were hinting at, perhaps feeding her with Chloe's growing apprehension wasn't the smartest decision. “So, do you wanna sleep in the truck?” she asked, attempting to dismantle the awkwardness that now hung in the air.

“No, I'd rather sleep at that _Radisson_ over there.” Finally, Chloe saw a smile.

“Yeah, I bet they have super comfy beds. And like, those ten-thousand thread count Egyptian sheets, handcrafted by only the finest, blind nuns.”

“And free room service.”

“Oh my God, _yes._ And really nasty shit on TV. For the finest businessmen.”

“Gross.”

“Like, the most fucked up—“

“And bear repellent,” Max interrupted.

“Oh shit, I think we're out.”

“That's a shame.”

“Yeah, I could really go for a bottle of bear repellent right now.”

“Do you think bears stay at the _Radisson?_ Or are they more the _Holiday Inn_ type?”

“Oh, _Raidsson_ for sure,” Chloe said, as though she had extended knowledge on the subject of bear lodging. “Bears love fancy shit. Fancy fuckin' bears, they're everywhere.”

“Oh my God, what are we even saying anymore?” Max said, following her question with a laugh.

“God, I don't even know. I'm so tired I can't even think straight.”

“Well, let's just call it a night and sleep.”

Chloe nodded, then hesitated for a tentative moment, biting the side of her lip. An idea volleying around her head for the past few hours didn't seem so trivial anymore. “Hey,” she said, reaching for the door. “Stay here a sec.”

“Okay, well I really wasn't planning on going—“

Chloe exited her truck before hearing the rest of Max's sentence, walking over to the back. Opening the hatch, using the limited light available provided by a nearby street light, she inspected the mess in the bed of the truck—old clothes, blankets, inexplicable animal hair—then climbed in, rearranging the clutter until it was acceptably “clean” enough for two people to lounge comfortably.

“Max,” she called out. “Max!” she repeated after her call was met with silence.

“What?” Max said, opening her car door.

“Come over here.” Chloe settled into the truck bed, using a blanket to cushion her body.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking the Bar exam. I think I really got it this time.”

“All right, smartass.” Max got out from the passenger side and walked over to the back, her expression switching to a marriage of disappointment and bewilderment once she saw Chloe lounging in the haphazard nest of junk in the truck bed. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Chloe repeated, reading Max's face. “It's fucking comfy. Get up here.”

Max climbed up, her expression offering hesitance, Chloe extending her hand to help her up.

“It smells kind of weird here,” Max observed, inviting herself next to Chloe in a makeshift nest of piled blankets.

“Are you sure that's my truck and not the great outdoors?” Chloe patted her pockets, only now realizing she was out of cigarettes. “Fuck.” Perhaps she could use this an opportunity to quit—what were the chances Max's parents would allow her to smoke in the house, anyway?—but realistically, Chloe saw that as a battle she would, once again, lose in humiliating defeat.

“I'm pretty sure. Unless the great outdoors smells like stale cigarettes and beef jerky.”

“That's fucking weird, because I don't eat beef jerky.”

“Yeah, but you smell like it. Jerky...face.”

“'Jerky-face?'” Chloe laughed. “Fuck, you really need some sleep, your brain's fried.”

Max groaned, although with a smirk. “I was having a wonderful sleep until you woke me up.”

“I guess it's sleeping in the truck tonight for us, because I called the _Raddison_ and they're all booked up.”

“Wait, wait, we're not sleeping here, right?" Max's body perked, her eyes telling a story of panic. "Because I don't want to wake up having my guts eaten by a coyote or—“

“You really think coyotes eat humans?”

“Bears, man. Bears. They do.”

“What's with your fixation on bears? And being eaten by them? Anyway, no. We're not sleeping here. Calm your tits.” Chloe swore she saw Max briefly glancing down at her chest. “I just needed some fresh air and...I don't know, a break. After a little while, maybe after it gets darker, we'll sleep inside the truck.”

“Yeah...actually, it's kinda nice. If I weren't so afraid of mutant human-eating coyotes, I'd probably fall asleep here.”

Max's head rested on Chloe's shoulder. A gesture of affection as menial as a simple head resting on her shoulder sufficed in boosting her heart rate, almost alarmingly so, and Chloe daringly returned the act with an arm around Max. Max didn't challenge it, which brought great exhilaration within Chloe's fragile heart.  The silence was accepted with contented expressions and soft breaths, the sky's gradient gradually disappearing into the calming daylight.

“Promise me you won't let me fall asleep here,” Max said, shifting in her place and pulling herself closer into Chloe.

“I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, sorry, but the next part i wanted to write was a bit too long to add in


	3. Daysleeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey the title of this chapter is named after the amazing song by my favorite band, Dear and the Headlights. the song gives me a total Chloe Price vibe. check it out if you're into that thing or not whatever I'm not your mother. also I don't know why I'm uploading this the night before Episode 2. it's mostly a coincidence lolol

“What?” Reality flickered into Chloe's head like a switched-on florescent light, overwhelming her enough to elicit a groan. She wasn't sure how long she slept for, only that her grogginess dissolved and she now felt a primal upset at the yelling creature shaking her awake. “Ugh.” The abrasive rays of sunlight were certainly _not_ welcome into her adjusting eyes, assaulting her fragile morning psyche and state of being. Chloe groaned again and pulled a stray blanket over her face, hoping the layer of fabric would suffice in muffling the crystallizing harshness of the world.

“We. Fell. _Asleep,”_ the intruder asserted.

Realizing the frantic figure was just Max, Chloe's frustration faded. “Oh.” Yesterday's events flooded her head all at once, the poor girl phasing through a torrent of emotions without enough time or strength to process them individually. “Oh fuck.” It wasn't a dream. The snapshots of yesterday weren't just a nightmare she could rub out of her eyes. They were as real as the specks of dirt and leaves nesting in Max's hair, as real as the apprehension flushing through Chloe's abdomen.

“My parents called twenty times. I have eighteen voicemails. Oh, shit. They're not even all from my parents.” Max scrolled through her phone with pensive eyes. “What the fuck is this number?”

“Hey. Are your guts still intact? I think that's the important question here.” As always, humor and a facade of apathy were enough to placate the real feelings Chloe held.

“Chloe,” Max said, shoving her phone into her pocket. “We have to get going.” Max's panic augmented her voice into a shrill unbearable for early-morning Chloe. “Seriously, I'm hungry and tired and—and my parents are worried. Oh my God—aren't you worried about your parents? I mean, well—your mom and David—Aren't _they_ worried?”

“Dude, relax,” Chloe said, shoving the blanket onto Max. “They're fine. They found a hotel in a shithole town nearby. Said they're going to work on their marriage issues or whatever. I don't know why she found the need to tell me that.”

“We have to get going. _Now._ ”

“Oh, are you offering to drive?” The bite in Chloe's tone invited a glare on Max's face. There it was—again, that ethereal feeling of something close to love preceding most of Chloe's recent choices, a drive to repair whatever threads of Max were damaged in the predicaments plaguing the pair. Something that challenged platonic preconceptions and tightened her chest in all the wrong places. “Fuck, fine. Whatever.”

Tendrils of October air broke on her skin and drew a shudder—these cold days were growing closer together and forebode a cooler winter. “It's a lot colder today, anyway. I don't want to freeze my ass off.” She stood up, stretching, her muscles releasing the stiffness of a mostly pleasant sleep.

“Hey—I'm—yeah, I'm fine.” Chloe realized Max was now engaged in a phone call. “No. We fell asleep. Yeah. Uh. Yeah. We did. I don't know. An hour away. She's right here. I don't know. I don't know. Yes, she's fine. He's fine too. Look, I'll tell you more when—yeah. Okay. Love you too.” Max ended the call. “Mom's freaking out a bit. Dad figured we just fell asleep.”

“Sounds like your dad's the smart one.” Chloe's statement carried envy. Even if the sadness she felt over her dad's death started to dull, it still had a stinging resonance, made worse with the right catalyst—like the reminder that Max's dad was alive and well, carrying a prestige David would never hold.

“They're both smart. Really fucking smart.”

“Well, I guess we should get going, then. I don't want your mom to have a heart attack.”

Max laughed, but a semblance of worry held her voice. “She'll be fine...I hope. God, I hope.”

-

Driving from the quaint air of Arcadia Bay to the thicket of the city sharpened Chloe's alertness, not used to venturing outside the suffocating abyss she called home. Of course she's been to the city before. Of course she loved it. Of course she wasn't a stranger to the world outside of Arcadia Bay, often dreaming of leaving that fish smell-soaked town to dwell where she belonged, in the bustling city, where people like her weren't seen as cruel-natured delinquents in need of saving.

So, of course, she was terrified. Excited, yet terrified.

She absorbed everything she could about her new home, both out of excitement and caution. Single power lines evolved into plural waves of electric parallels, cresting, never crashing, along cardboard cutout homes and crumbling buildings. The sky was a dreary gray, as though someone had thrown a thin blanket over the atmosphere. Even inside her car, she picked up the scent of industrialism—diesel and some other metallic smell she couldn't quite pinpoint—exchanging out the stale smell of old food wrappers. People weren't interacting each other, they were moving through the streets as if each one of them had something to do way more important than anything ever done, ever. Just looking at the hurried nature of Seattle's inhabitants gave Chloe second-hand anxiety.

It was either city life, or shacking with Joyce and David in a shitty hotel while they searched for an even shittier house. It wasn't a hard decision. But it was a difficult adjustment, and Chloe already felt uneasiness grip familiar fingers around her soul.

One glance at Max, however, steeping in calm air, sedated all worries. Chloe was _hella_ fucking psyched.

“That one,” Max said, pointing to a deep blue house choked by almost identical houses. It had the warming nature of a suburban house—clean, ample space, tastefully decorated without clutter—but the uneven sidewalks and lattice of power lines above proved its urban location. “Oh, God. I can't believe I'm back here already.”

Max's parents were exactly as Chloe remembered, and didn't seem to have a single aversion to Chloe's more “alternative” appearance. If anything, they were as warm and welcoming as she remembered them to always be—almost sickeningly so, and something in the back of Chloe's mind told her she didn't deserve the kindness they suffocated her with. They looked the same as they always did, and it creeped Chloe out, like their optimism prevented from them aging past their mid-thirties. Unlike Joyce, whose hard life drew wrinkles on her face and pulled her eyes into a permanent sadness, Max's parents held a genuine grin on their face, like their lips were pinned with tacks.

Max's new house was an odd cocktail of familiar and uncharted territory for Chloe. The smell was familiar, gut-wrenchingly so and waves of nostalgia crashed over Chloe and forged bittersweet pangs of emotion. She recognized most of the furniture, surviving through their childhood adventures and witnessing the growth of a wonderful friendship. She even saw a picture of her and Max perched on a bookshelf, their smiles shining of childhood bliss and oblivion of their tumultuous future. Max was unaware of the nostalgia trip Chloe trekked, too busy smothered in the affections and relief of her parents. Her parents, however, obviously noticed, immediately engaging Chloe in a conversation about the last time they saw her, how “different” she looked (but how well it suit her, a surprise to Chloe and Max), and gave her a tour of the house.

Max's room, the only room Chloe really cared about, was, as always, a mirror of her personality. Photos she took throughout the years glided around the room in strings, wall-to-wall and covering a solo bulletin board on the west wall. The only photos, apparently, not worthy enough for her to take to Blackwell with her. A Thunderbirds jersey draped over a chair in the corner of the room, beneath a Mariners pennant. A picture she and Chloe drew years ago was taped up on the wall—a picture of Max and Chloe as werewolves, respectively—and that drew more emotion from Chloe than anything else in the house. Any veneer from Max of affection for their past would only assuage the small fear Chloe had that the distance between them hurt Chloe the most.

Chloe was introduced to the guest room, with the realization she wasn't sleeping in the same room as Max, something she looked forward to. It made sense, Max still slept in the same twin-size bed she did as a child. The only difference was that character and Disney sheets faded away to boring patterned and solid color sheets. The guest room, in stark contrast to Max's room, was decorated as though to compensate for a lack of personality. Purple sheets and photos of unknown people couldn't compensate for the sterile feeling it gave Chloe, like if she were to touch _anything_ in that room she would tear apart space and time itself.

But the Caulfields told her to make herself at home while Max settled back in, and so she did, as much as she could without making it _too_ much like her home.

She didn't have much. After the storm settled, they fled the town without attempting to salvage anything from Chloe's house or Max's dorm. They didn't even linger enough to see if they were still intact. A sharp ping of sadness stabbed her heart when she remembered all she'd lost at her house.

All Chloe had was the clothes in the back of her truck, which was threatening to break down and give up at any mile, and the dime bags of weed stuffed in the glove compartment. She briefly considered making use of them, but with nothing to smoke with and nowhere to smoke, another source of stress fell onto her heap of issues.

“Fuck,” Chloe breathed, falling onto the bed behind her. The mattress was uncomfortably firm, akin to slightly padded concrete. There was no chance in hell this room saw a lot of company.

She heard Max talking to her parents in the next room, but couldn't make out past a few words. The ticking of a wall clock and the outside city noises punctured any chance of Chloe deciphering the conversation, so her mind wandered elsewhere.

She tried her _damnedest_ to avoid thinking about Rachel and their recent discovery, as she didn't want the Caulfields catching her red-faced with tears highlighting her cheeks. She hadn't had much time to process it, or to be alone and think about it. Max's company soothed her and shorted any chance of a breakdown. But Chloe knew, eventually, she'd have to process it, to think about it and remember everything she had with Rachel, and she'd be alone, and she'd break down and cry—and that was okay.

Now wasn't the time, apparently, as a familiar voice bit her thoughts dead. “Hell-oooo?”

“Oh, hey, shit,” Chloe responded, noticeably jumping in a startle. Max was standing in the door frame, almost perfectly framed in a silhouette as the lights from the hallway settled behind her.

“Uh, don't you want some light?”

“Nah. I like the darkness. Interesting shit happens in it.”

Chloe heard Max chuckle. “Well, if I get murdered, I'm blaming you.”

“I'll keep my eye out for any serial killers who like to hide out in guest rooms.”

Max walked over the bed and sat next to Chloe. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”

“So,” Chloe said, knowing the following question was inevitable social courtesy, “happy to be home?”

“I mean, in...in sorts, yeah. They're happy to see me. My parents, I mean.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

“I guess I don't really have much to miss at Blackwell.”

“Well, that's a mutual feeling, sister.”

“I just try not to think about what happened.” Max's voice fell in decibels, as did her expression.

It dawned on Chloe that it wasn't just her avoiding painful processing. “I know how you feel.”

“Ah, well, uh, my parents said they're going to take us shopping tomorrow to buy new clothes and whatever else we need.” Max's voice hastened, as though she were desperate for a change in conversational subject.

“Well, shit,” Chloe said, sitting up with the support of one of the many firm pillows stuffed at the back of the bed, “I don't have any money.”

“I know, that's why I said _they're_ taking us.”

“Oh, fuck no. Fuck no. I'm not letting them spend money on me. They're being nice enough to let me stay here with you for...God knows how long.” Chloe took another look around the guest room, slowly coming to terms that this was her new semi-permanent home.

“So, you plan on wearing the same—what, two outfits you have on hand?”

“Hygiene is overrated,” Chloe quipped, sliding a few inches down the mattress.

“No, no it is definitely not,” Max said, with a laugh in her voice.

“Fine. I'll let them take me. But God, I need to get a job. Or an education. Or—something. Fuck, this is freaking me out.”

“Dude, yeah, me too. But maybe now's not the time to think about it. Let's worry about that later, we just got here.”

Chloe nodded, eyes fixed at the popcorn ceiling above. She wasn't sure her brain was about to let a strong reference of anxiety slip away so easily. “Sure.” Chloe never really freaked out about her future back in Arcadia Bay, but a new environment, the excitement and terror, the realization that everything wasn't going to fall into place like she had dreamed—it all surmounted to a growing apprehension around what the _hell_ she was doing with her life.

“My parents are actually super excited you're here. I don't really have a lot of people to hang out with in Seattle.”

“Then you're not doing Seattle right.” Finally, a glimmering light in the pile of shit hand dealt to her. The inflection in her voice echoed her inflating elation. “Tell you what, you and me, we're not going to take advantage of this shit. I'm taking you out at least three nights a week and we're going to make the most of this shit. I'm not spending my nights here sulking. We almost died, let's fucking act like it.”

Max's enthusiasm didn't match Chloe's, but she didn't expect that. “Yeah, I guess. Can we make it like—no, no, nevermind. Three's fine.”

“Trust me, dude. You'll love it.”

“I guess. But—you know, after everything's that happened—I wouldn't mind a few nights—just the two of us.” Max leaned on Chloe, who was suddenly hyper aware of her breathing and pulse as it shook her body. Just the weight of another human on Chloe tranquilized her, but the reminder that her partner in time was by her side, not having any intention of leaving, appeased the troubled creature within her.

“Of course, Max. I wouldn't want it any other way.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm sure at some point there'll be a canon establishment of what max's house in seattle is like (if there isn't already?? not that i know of) but w/e this is now officially my own canon so enjoy


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